


In Your Dreams

by BlueMonkey, ThornyHedge



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: Dream Sex, M/M, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:22:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMonkey/pseuds/BlueMonkey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornyHedge/pseuds/ThornyHedge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prompt fill from an anonymous reader at the Hobbit Kink Meme:</p>
<p>
  <em>So, Richard said he used to dream in character as Thorin, right? What he left out is the part where he then woke up and fucked his partner through the mattress as Thorin, which made quite a change from shy, gentle Richard. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>That, or any case of Richard taking a character not only home, but into bed with him.</em>
</p>
<p>We chose to write established Richard/Dean with the above ... complication. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Richard/Thorin written by BlueMonkey
> 
> Dean written by ThornyHedge
> 
> Our first collaboration! So exciting!

Richard was moaning in his sleep. It happened from time to time and on the rare occasion when it woke Dean, the blond simply wrote it off as the stress of the day coming out in Richard’s dreams. The semi-repressed Brit had spent so much time as Thorin lately—a role that involved him being much more alpha and aggressive than he was in real life—that it wasn’t surprising that he had demons to exorcise in his dreams. 

Dean himself was known to dream he was Fili. Once, he’d even dreamed he and Kili were riding a keg down a hill. He awoke to find a ferocious thunderstorm going on outside. The memory made him smile, and he rolled over to wrap his arms around his lover, laying his head on Richard’s chest. 

The moans increased until Richard's chest was rising and falling under his hands. Skin was hotter than it ought to be, even under these warm blankets, and from time to time Richard jolted. Then came times where he didn't move, as though he were dead. Or waiting. Either way, it was obvious Richard's dreams were vivid. Once, his eyes flickered open. His eyeballs rolled back and he turned. It was one of those dreams.

"Don't," he panted, "Please don't..." And then his frame went still and his nostrils flared. Richard himself had no trouble with that particular word. He was an actor; he had little trouble with anything when in character. Thorin however disliked anything having to do with helplessness with a passion. He was a dwarf of Erebor. He woke with a jolt, his eyes wild, and looked around him, but his body was held back from leaving by a hand. "Let go of me!" he growled.

“Hey… _hey,_ ” Dean said soothingly, raising a hand to caress Richard’s flushed cheek. “It’s all right. I’m here.” Leaning over his lover, his eyes sought out Richard’s in the dim light.

"Don't touch me," Richard pulled back. His dreams had taken him back before Ered Luin, to the wandering days, back when Thorin used to work hard to make ends meet. Slaving at the anvil during the day for the little trinkets of men, and whatever he could find during the nights: hunts, stripping meat in filthy kitchens, degrading chores.

He felt soiled, thinking back on it. And this—a man in his bed, under his pelts—wasn't soothing him any. He did remember him, of course he did. But with his heart beating miles per minute and his mind going over and over the memories, he didn't truly register.

Dean began to wonder if perhaps Richard might be still asleep and dreaming with his eyes open. Even at his most docile, Richard could probably break him in two, so he stopped touching Richard and retreated to his own side of the bed to give Richard a chance to get oriented.

That was an improvement. Next to him, Richard tried to control his breathing. It was slightly disorienting, being in a pristine bed—or as pristine as it got with him tossing and turning—and having all these memories of chaos. He couldn't find his sword anywhere, and the clothes on the floor looked familiar, but they weren't his. He looked at Dean. "Who gave you permission to sleep here?"

“Uh—” Dean was momentarily taken aback, “ _you_ did, love.” He smiled. “We normally end up at my place, but last night we were rather overcome with passion outside your door. So here I am.”

Richard’s brows furrowed and his eyes darkened. He remembered all too well how the passion of men went. Mostly, they were hearsay, but there had been nights he had wished to forget. He would never bring a man into his bed. And this, next to him, was definitely a man. And men were slow.

It took him little effort to roll himself on top of him and pin him down. Somewhere in the back of his mind, something screamed to wake up. He paid it no mind. His pupils widened and he looked down. "What did you do to me last night?" he demanded, "Tell me, or you will regret your silence."

“Whoa… hey,” Dean allowed his body to fall back submissively, not wanting to incur Richard’s wrath. His mind scrambled to recall their activities the evening before. “We ate dinner together, had a nice walk. We—we talked, mostly, then walked back here and,” he swallowed audibly, not sure why he felt suddenly ashamed to admit it, “and then we went to bed.” 

"That's all?" Richard refused to believe it. A dullness throbbed in his limbs, one that had nothing to do with the burn of muscles after a long day. "You have no bed of your own?"

“Well, yes,” Dean told him, fully accepting that Richard was dreaming. “But we often sleep together, Richard. We have for a few months now.”

The name, Richard, seemed to ring a bell. He thought about that long and hard. There was something completely logical about the way Dean explained it to him. Yet he didn't know why. He pressed Dean further into the bed. "You are without home," he said. Slowly, bit by bit, he allowed his guard down. "I believe your hand on my chest was accidental?"

“No,” Dean told him truthfully. “Not accidental at all. I was trying to comfort you.” Dean suddenly had a revelation as he watched Richard’s face cycle through emotions, so he took a risk. “Thorin?”

"Yes?" came the easy, albeit confused, reply. "Why would I need comforting?"

“It seemed as if you were having a bad dream,” Dean told him. “It—it felt natural to comfort you.”

_Oh._ Richard sat back to give him some space. He inspected the man under him, who seemed to have no ill intent. "Well," he cleared his throat, "We shall not speak of it again." He was Thorin. He needed no comforting. Although, he begrudged, it had felt nice. And this man was fairly attractive—not the typical lot to ask for his attention. He had a nice nose, he found himself thinking.

“Maybe we ought to get some more sleep?” Dean suggested, a little uncomfortable with Thorin’s scrutiny. “We have an early call tomorrow.”

But Richard—Thorin—had no qualms with causing Dean discomfort. He curiously looked down. At last he sighed, apologized, and moved off him. Apparently they worked together. "I apologize," he offered, "I hope I did not cause offense." Then he turned on his side, so that he could still keep an eye on this handsome stranger in his bed.

“I’m not at all offended,” Dean smiled affably, still a little nervous, as Richard clearly believed he was Thorin Oakenshield. Right now, Richard’s eyes were somehow both brighter and wilder than normal, even in the 4 a.m. moonlight. It all felt terribly surreal. Maybe it was _he_ who was dreaming… 

To test the theory, he reached out a hand to caress Thorin’s naked bicep.

"What are you doing?" Thorin demanded in a deep voice.

Dean pulled his hand back as if he’d been burned. “N-nothing,” he said apologetically. “I just wanted to… to be sure that you were…” he sighed sadly. “We should sleep, Thorin,” he told his bedmate. “It’s terribly late.”

The thing just was, Thorin liked answers. He wasn't going to sleep with an explanation like that. He was too stubborn and too curious for that. Simply put, there were too many questions haunting his thoughts. "Give me an answer," he said. Somehow he felt like his strength was waning. It had nothing to do with being sleepy; the strange turn of events had him wide awake and alert for the smallest abnormality. 

He couldn't help but think that it was somehow vital.

Dean sighed, wishing he’d simply let Richard keep dreaming. Was there an answer that could possibly satisfy Thorin Oakenshield? He couldn’t be anything but honest. “I-I care for you,” he told him, “and I wanted to be sure you were all right before we went back to sleep. I’m worried about you, Thorin,” he admitted. “And I love you.” He experimentally reached for Thorin’s hand, laced his fingers with it and brought it to his lips. 

To the man next to him, the last sentence resonated. He racked his brains for an explanation. Men never told him they loved him. They paid him for what they needed and more often than not, a word of gratitude was too much to ask. Thorin didn't know how to handle it. His initial response was to slink back, but when he thought about how Dean could respond to that, he quickly corrected himself.

"This is not the first time you've said that to me, is it?" he wondered as a kiss was placed on the back of his hand. It rubbed him the wrong way. Thorin was a prince among his people. He was not wooed like a lass. Answers first, though.

“No,” Dean told him, blue eyes twinkling, “and it won’t be the last.” He nuzzled Thorin’s knuckles with his lips, teasingly.

And ah, that definitely rubbed the king the wrong way. Nice, fairly handsome guy or not, nobody told Thorin what to do. That included suggesting love declarations, especially the way he looked at him right now. It was unsuiting for a commoner towards a Dwarven prince.

Unfortunately for Thorin, who, for all his years, was unfamiliar with a lot of things, the way Dean's lips moved against his hand had him paralyzed.

“I—” Dean froze at the look in Thorin’s eyes. Thorin looked for all the world as if Dean was not only annoying him, but also scaring him. And he wanted to do neither of those things. He gently placed Thorin’s hand back down on the sheets. “I’m sorry. Listen, I’ll get my things and go,” he suggested. “Clearly you’re shaken and I’m not helping matters,” he began to roll out of his side of the bed.

"Don't you dare turn your back on me!" Thorin growled. Out of place as he felt in this bed, between these sheets and with this man next to him, like he was ripped from his world, there was only so much he could take. The blond couldn't just tell him they'd been sleeping together and mention he'd professed his love for him before, and would do it again, and then leave him here alone.

When Dean moved, Thorin pulled him back into bed. It took no effort to have him under him again. This time though, he held onto Dean's wrists. The man would not escape him this time. "You dare woo me and then leave?"

Richard’s Thorin-voice and actions had always turned Dean on, but he absolutely refused to take advantage of Richard like this. “Y-you’re not quite yourself right now, your highness,” he said the first thing that came to his addled mind, praying Thorin couldn’t feel his burgeoning erection.

"Don't you thi-" Thorin was going to finish that sentence and demand why it wasn't his thing to decide, instead of presumed by a sapling a quarter of his age, but his sentence was cut short. Of course he felt it. And, the world be damned, it awoke something inside of him, something that only made him angrier. Thorin did not say another thing. He poured his rage at the many assumptions into a different way to force this man to acknowledge rank. He rolled his hips down.

Dean let out a hiss and squirmed as Thorin bore down on him, the contact ratcheting up his arousal. He wanted desperately to free his trapped hands to touch Thorin. He tried to raise his head to kiss him, but that maneuver failed as well. The best he could manage was to part his thighs slightly to acknowledge that yes, he was on board with whatever Thorin wanted to dish out. 

Dean missed Thorin's point utterly. The Dwarven prince stared down hard. Something told him to be nice to this man. It was hard though; whenever he pressed forward, Dean met him equally. Whenever he made room for Dean, the man shied away. Challenge accepted to subdue him once and for all, Thorin poured all of his rage in the way his mouth closed against Dean's neck, sucking hard, and the way their hips met.

Dean gasped and threw his head back on the pillow, giving Thorin full access to his throat. “Th-Thorin?” he breathed. “What do you plan to do with me?”

"Teach you not to try me out like that again," Thorin hissed against his ear. He wouldn't have minded wooing this particular man, he thought. His scent and the way he moved were rather intoxicating. He made the grave mistake of instead wooing him, with his background, and he could not allow that.

Whoever dressed his legs in a comfortable but hellishly constricting flannel deserved to die.

“I hadn’t meant to speak out of turn,” Dean tried to humor Thorin, but he was still sleep-addled and Thorin seemed to be perfectly clear-of-mind. “You… are a king, and I should have treated you as such. I-I’m terribly, terribly sorry, highness.”

Thorin's grin was smug. "Glad to see you've come to your senses," but his hand reached down nonetheless and slipped under the pathetic piece smallclothes the blond was wearing before grasping his cock. "A little too late, I am afraid." Thorin was only made of flesh and blood, after all. He could not instigate this and then walk away unscathed. The man turned him on, it was simple as that. With a growl he struggled out of the last of his own attire and pressed down on Dean, naked.

An urgency to kiss him awoke in his veins. Thorin tried to subdue it by driving Dean further; it would not do for a prince to have romantic notions with commoners.

Dean moaned and his hips involuntarily bucked up into Thorin’s large hand. Now that Dean himself had a hand free, he raised it to Thorin’s face, cupping his left cheek and trying to pull the king down into a kiss. 

At that, he found himself only shoved further up the bed. "Stop that," Thorin demanded, though he longed to give in. The notion was alien to him; never before had he wanted something of the sort, and it confused him now. That confusion was funneled into rage and roughly, he tore Dean’s boxers off. Belatedly, he grabbed Dean's hand and pushed it into the pillow. Then Thorin pressed their erections together, and wrapped his free hand around both.

Dean was not accustomed to being dismissed sexually by Richard. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t in bed with Richard right now, but was instead with Thorin Oakenshield. Along with Thorin’s aloofness, there was an alpha sexiness that Richard was lacking, and that was a real turn-on. The blond threw back his head and relished the feeling of Thorin’s hot cock against his own. He would not be trying to kiss the king again.

Little did he know how hard his king tried not to reach down to kiss him instead. It frustrated him to no end, and every bit of that frustration went into marking him, thinking up ways to humiliate him—though deep down he wanted nothing of the sort, Thorin's surface thoughts liked that incredibly much—and rubbing their cocks together. For a man, they were surprisingly matched. "You're mine," he spoke against Dean's temple.

But then he lost control and kissed him hard. Terribly irritated with himself, he slipped a finger down and inside Dean at the same time. It crooked as soon as it had space to do so.

“Yours,” Dean agreed around Thorin’s warm lips. “Ah, god!” he cried out at the finger’s surprising and pleasurable intrusion.

Everything about it further told Thorin that they had done this before. Dean did tell him frequently he loved him. It felt too familiar to just cast it aside. Thorin didn't know what to do about that. He hadn't exactly courted anyone before, let alone one of the race of Men. He did what he felt was right; he sat upright, looking down on the gorgeous sight on display, then pulled him up in his lap. Without further warning, Thorin added a second finger and scissored deep.

Dean was thankful he was still somewhat slick and open from their lovemaking earlier that evening. Still, he knew he’d be sore in the morning if Thorin was going to continue to manhandle him like this. Most of the time, he loathed his smaller, compact size. This wasn’t one of those times, however. He lustfully rode Thorin’s thick digits, his own fingers threading in Thorin’s rich, chestnut hair. “Ungh, yes,” he moaned. “So, so good, your majesty.”

The sight of him was so gorgeous and inviting, his moans inspiring so much need, that Thorin gave in. He stopped caring about teaching him a lesson. Instead he lifted him up on his haunches and leaned back. The fingers slipped out with a wet sound. "Ride me," he commanded darkly. His eyes never left Dean's; he found his cock by touch alone, and gave it a good long stroke, nudging the glans on his way down.

“As you wish, your highness,” Dean raised his eyes to Thorin’s reverently, straddling the thick organ and sinking slowly onto it. He tried to maintain eye contact, but found himself groaning in pained pleasure, eyes closing and head thrown back. “So full of you, Thorin,” he gasped, squeezing experimentally with his inner muscles.

The continuous compliments did miracles for Thorin's pride. A smug grin plastered itself on his face and stuck on as Dean looked at him. It was impossible to get enough of him. But then he was allowed entrance and everything became overwhelming all at once. His head fell back, his eyes rolling up, and the curve of a blissful smile graced his lips. "So good," he breathed, "Deeper."

Dean looked so debauched. He needed more of it. 

Dean loved riding Richard, so it was no hardship for him to find just the right angle of his hips so that Thorin’s cock rubbed his sweet spot on nearly every pass. He put a hand on one of his lover’s muscular thighs and the other splayed over the king’s chest, toying with a nipple. He smirked at Thorin and pinched the bud teasingly.

Thorin's eyes shot open. He wildly stared up at Dean astride him. The sensation was incredible. Pulling him in for an open-mouthed kiss, he groaned and thrust up. The bed creaked with every move—he didn't know why, but he knew it had something to do with there being not enough space between the bed and the walls. He liked it. It brought out the savage in him. 

Then there was the way Dean moved around him. There were no words to describe how good it was, too early in the morning, to have that pushing down around him. Thorin's hand closed once again around his erection. "Talk to me," he said, lost in pleasure.

“Want you, Thorin,” Dean gasped, gazing into his eyes. “Your hands, your mouth, your incredible, thick, gorgeous cock…” he groaned and increased his thrusts, riding Thorin wildly. Sweat ran down his chest and he rubbed a hand through it. “Dreamed of fucking you, Thorin,” he confessed. “On your throne, in your bed…” he leaned forward and whispered in Thorin’s ear. “Your cum all over me, _in_ me.”

"Yes," hissed Thorin, and bit at the skin of his jugular. "And fuck you I will, until you're bruised and can't stand up anymore and then still, I will not be sated." He pistoned up harder. Thorin longed to throw him on the bed and fuck him senseless. He wanted those gorgeous lips to beg him to stop, plead with him because he couldn't take any more. He didn't throw him on the bed. Instead the hand that wasn't occupied jerking him off at a maddeningly slow pace moved to Dean's hip and pushed him further down, every time he sank down on him. "Let me desecrate you."

Dean shuddered at the word _desecrate_ and all it implied. He was painfully close to orgasm and Thorin’s commanding tone wasn’t helping matters. He was stuffed full of Thorin, gasping in pleasure. “Do it,” he challenged the king. “Make me yours.”

At those words, Thorin growled. He shoved Dean up against the headboard, further banging the bed against the walls at an hour too early for it, and pressed his cock against his stomach, rubbing it between Dean's abdomen and the flat of his palm. When their mouths unlatched, a sliver of spit stuck to Dean's lip. He was given no chance to do something about it, for Thorin thrust up hard and deep, and relentlessly so. He never missed a beat. His breathing became erratic and his fingertips dug hard into Dean's hips.

"Come for me," he whispered against slick skin, "And let me show you."

That was all it took for Dean to come apart in Thorin’s hands. He buried his face in Thorin’s shoulder and cried out as he came, fingernails raking up Thorin’s back in a way he’d have to apologize for in the morning. But for now, he painted Thorin with his come, grinding his hips lasciviously, encouraging the king to follow him over the edge.

And Thorin fell apart in violent shudders. He hadn't needed anything more than the way Dean convulsed around him, already so close to losing it, and when his seed finally coated the tight walls and threatened to seep out the moment he withdrew, he cried out at the sheer idea of that, eyes wide. Thorin felt like he was on fire.

It took Thorin fairly long to recover. When he did, his lips pulled up in a broad grin. "I promised your ruin." He moved out surprisingly gently. When he was fully unsheathed, he sighed and took Dean's lips in a kiss. But he did not let him move away from the wall. Sweat-slicked fingers crept down and pushed back into the wet hole.

Dean whimpered into Thorin’s mouth. “Love you so much,” he whispered. “Love you, Thorin,” he emphasized. “I know you won’t remember this in the morning, but I wanted you to hear it.” He caressed Richard’s hair gently.

"Love you too," Thorin licked his dry lips in reply. He didn't know why he'd say that to a complete stranger, but the words entered his mind unwillingly and they got stuck until long after he accepted then as simply feeling right. His plans of desecration—he did have some, revolving around either his own cum or that of Dean, currently smeared across his lower abdomen—had wilted under the affection that rode over him in the wake of the storm. He moved the finger slightly, before extracting it. "Why would I not remember something as beautiful as this?"

“Because you’re dreaming, love,” Dean told him gently. “Dreaming, right now. And we’re going to lie down and go back to sleep,” he kissed Richard’s forehead. “Sleep with me, Thorin,” he begged.

Thorin frowned. "You speak in metaphors, do you not?" Nonetheless, he laid himself down next to him and continued to just watch him. Before him lay someone who could have his heart. Gently, as if they hadn't just done what they'd done, he leaned forward for a kiss. "Close your eyes. I'll be right behind you."

Dean did so, and fell asleep with Thorin’s kiss on his lips, wondering if Richard had really been dreaming at all.

Thorin pulled Dean close against him and breathed into his hair. He was content, in perfect equilibrium, and drifted off soon around the warmth in his arms. As his eyes lost to gravity, he remembered fleetingly wondering how he could ever forget about a night like this.


End file.
